The Freya Mikaelson Stories
by DenLilleViking
Summary: A collection of stories featuring The Originals' Freya Mikaelson. Some stories from the writer's experience as a Freya roleplayer. AU Mature and Dark Content
1. Freya's Introduction

The circle was cast under the silver light of the full moon. The day's heat had vanished with the sun and now humid cold rose in its wake. On bare feet I moved backwards in a large circle, carrying a jar of red sand which I poured little by little onto the dewy grass. Remaining inside the almost even sphere, I discarded of my empty jar with another. This one was filled with white sand, and instead of pouring it on the ground like the red, I reached within the jar and grasped a handful. Steady, confident movements ensured I was able to sprinkle the fine grains in the form of an Yr rune. It was to be one of nine, all positioned outside the circle to serve as guardians for my earthly body.

"Hlífa." I chanted in the Old Norse language I had spoken as a child, the one that did no longer exist, yet seemed to channel my magic with greater power than Latin or Creole. This was not the magic of the African tribes that had been brought to America centuries ago, nor the magic of the Salem witches, but a form of shamanism so old it was barely known to the current inhabitants of the world. Seiðr, the sorcery of my Norse ancestors, taught to the god Odin himself by the goddess Freyja, taught to me by my aunt Dhalia. It was to prevent her discovering me that I was out under the moonlit sky this night. I had awoken from my century long slumber, and that meant she had as well. We were linked in such a way, that when Dhalia hexed herself into hibernation I had no choice but to follow. And I hated it. I had been alive for more than a thousand years, and yet I had only seen the light of day for twenty of those years. The rest had been spent in a state of deep sleep. It was Dhalia's way of preserving us, making us as close to immortal as she could. As I only had one year to live each time, I came to find it went by all too fast. There was no time to truly start living. No time to settle down and make friends. It was an empty existence. One I longed to change and reclaim as my own.

Once the circle was cast, I settled down on my knees, reaching for my third and final jar. Within the glass case lay bundles of recels; incense made of wormwood and mugwart, which I lit with a flick of my hand. Soon, heavy fragrant smoke rose from the jar and permeated the air around me. I lay down on my back, my arms out to either sides of me, palms facing upwards and eyes firmly shut. Clearing my mind of any distracting and unnecessary thoughts, my concentration deepened, and as the sounds of the forest died down, my spirit left my body.

I had known my destination before I invoked my magic, and so, with clear directions, my journey through the bayou and into the city was completed within seconds. Soon, I was stood in the bedroom of a young woman named Hayley Marshall. She was sleeping, tucked away in the arms of a werewolf whose identity I did not bother to learn. They would not see me should they wake. Not unless I wished it so. A soft sigh turned my attention to the crib against the wall. I moved to catch my first glimpse of Niklaus' daughter; my niece, Hope. She was a darling, little thing. Beautiful like her mother, and powerful like her father. Though just how much power that little body possessed, no one would know until she reached a more mature age. But even now, I knew she would be the price possession in Dhalia's collection - should she ever get to her. My aunt would have sensed her already, I had no doubt of that. And soon she would come to claim what was rightfully hers, bringing doom down on us all. It could all be prevented...with just one, tiny sacrifice. The child's death. My hand hovered above the sleeping creature, not quite touching, hesitating. In my heart, I did not want to bring her harm. To take the life of an innocent would leave a mark on my soul, so dark I knew it would haunt me for the rest of my life. But if I did not, said life would end within weeks. It would be so easy, here and now, unseen, to clamp my palm down upon the babe's mouth and watch the life leave her eyes. And it would be worth the price, would it not?

A gasp escaped me as the child moved, her eyelids, still droopy with sleep, opened. Her eyes met mine. And she smiled. Tiny fingers coiled about my thumb, squeezing with the tender affection only a baby can give. My heart gave a loud thump. I felt as though it had burst through my chest. Something, a feeling I had ever only experienced in the presence of my father and siblings, filled me. It spread through my soul like liquid heat. I swallowed thickly and met Hope's gaze, so trusting and happy, so unaware of all the evil in this world - of the evil whose hand she was holding.

"You will be the death of me, Niblet," I heard myself whisper as the tiny creature succumbed to sleep once more. I withdrew from her as carefully as I could, feeling so very conflicted, but with the knowledge that tonight's battle had been my niece's victory.


	2. A Score To Settle

The first sound to reach me was the splatter of water dripping on the floor. It echoed through my mind, tugging me from my pained state of unconsciousness and back to the present. I was sitting on a wooden chair. My arms were gathered behind my back, tied together with rough rope that cut into my fair skin. As I dared opening my eyes a blinding pain hit me, a white-hot pang exploded in the back of my head and spread to my entire body like wildfire. An involuntary groan escaped me.

Through my blurred vision I could see movement before me. The shape of a human. A man. He was sitting opposite me, quite calm. When his face finally came into focus, I allowed myself to examine his features more closely. He was unknown to me. He was, perhaps, in his early forties, his cheeks and chin shadowed by stubble, his hair cropped short. His green eyes never wavered from my waking form. In them, I saw cold violence. Cruelty. The recollection of our brief previous encounter returned to me. I had been walking down a narrow alley in town after a bit of shopping, and someone had come up behind me. Based on my current excruciating headache, I assumed the man had knocked me out before bringing me to...wherever the hell we were. It looked like a warehouse without any cargo. Or perhaps a hangar without planes. No matter its intended use, the room was large and open, the concrete floor littered with debris and dead leaves, otherwise empty. Except for the two of us, facing each other in our chairs.

"Took you long enough, witch," the man grunted when he saw me wake. He had a dark, bitter voice, full of spite and anger. What I had done to earn such a rude welcome, I did not know. "Thought you were gonna sleep the night away."

Despite the discomfort of the situation, I smiled.

"Yes, I do apologize. Head trauma tends to have that effect on me." Surprisingly, the man seemed to share my humor, for at that moment his mouth split into a wide grin, putting all of his teeth on display. He was leaning back rather casually, toying idly with a hunter's knife as he observed me.

"Cute," he said gruffly.

"Thank you. Now, would you be so kind as to inform me why you have brought me here, Mr..." I asked calmly, barely refraining from wincing as another bout of pain throbbed through my head, like someone was using my skull as a drum. The man didn't speak for a while. It seemed to me he was considering if revealing his name was wise or not. In the end, he decided it was.

"Caldwell. James Caldwell." He took another pause again. I didn't interrupt. I had already asked my question and I knew he had heard me. If he intended to let me have an answer, he would give it without a second prompt. "Where's the rest of your coven?" he asked, running his thumb over the sharp edge of his blade. His question took me by surprise. What had given him the idea I was in a coven?

"I have no coven," I answered truthfully, subtly testing the strength of my restraints while talking. They were tight. Impossible to move. In an unexpected flash of movement, Caldwell rose from his chair and threw himself towards me like a rabid dog, slashing his blade across my chest at the skin visible just above the neckline of my shirt. I gasped in pain, my gaze falling down to inspect the damage done to my flesh. The cut was deep, but not so much the bleeding wouldn't stop. Eventually. When I looked up, Caldwell's face was mere inches from my own. As he spoke, I could smell the tobacco and alcohol on his breath.

"I'll ask again; where is your coven?"

Breathing through my agony, I eventually forced my lips apart to utter a reply which sounded surprisingly calm despite the situation.

"And I answer you once more, I have no coven, Mr. Caldwell. What makes you think I do?" I half expected him to come at me with the knife again. But instead, he withdrew, slowly pacing back and forth, wiping the bloodied knife on his jeans.

"You always come in packs," he said, speaking more to himself than me. "There's never just one. Like rats." He put the knife down on his empty chair and shrugged his jacket off, his cheeks blotched red with heat. He was agitated. As he lifted his right arm to scratch his stubbled jaw, I spotted a silver cuff bracelet around his wrist. It was quite plain in design, entirely silver, except for one small crystal embedded in the piece itself. Malachite. My stomach lurched with excitement.

"So, Mr. Caldwell, you are a witch hunter?" I asked pleasantly, as though I was just having tea with an old friend. I already knew the answer, of course. He merely grunted in response. "Why did you enter that particular occupation? It can't possibly pay well?"

Caldwell stopped his pacing to fix me with a glare, hatred gleaming from those green eyes again. "Your kind is filth. Every single one of you. It goes all the way back to my grandpappy, you see, when a witch tried to seduce and kill him. He started huntin' them, and then he taught my dad to do the same, and then me. And we ain't gonna stop until there's none left of ya." He picked up his knife again, brandishing it threateningly in front of my face. I hummed in amusement.

"That's a fun story. Not entirely accurate, though."

Caldwell arched one bushy eyebrow, staring down at me in confusion. "What?"

I smiled.

"The witch didn't try and seduce your grandfather, Mr. Caldwell. It was in fact, just the opposite. But young Theodore Caldwell did not care for rejection, and he handled it badly."

Further confusion made Caldwell's brow furrow, and he seemed to have forgotten all about keeping up his threatening apparel. He looked quite stupid now I thought about it. Like a pig, trying to solve a riddle. "When he attacked me, I had to protect myself," I continued, describing the memories of that night back in 1914 as accurately as I could. "And I did use magic. I suppose that's the root to your grandfather's hatred. Fear can do that to a person."

"You're lyin'." Caldwell whispered, though his eyes contradicted his words. "You're a filthy, lyin' whore!" As it seemed my confession had upset the young witch hunter more than I had initially expected, time was becoming an issue. I had no doubt he would kill me should I give him the chance. As it were, I did not intend to that night. He turned his back on me and stooped down to the floor to rummage through his bag. As he did, I let my head fall back, my gaze fixed on the tall ceiling up above, drawing energy from the very air around me.

"Eldr..." I whispered to myself, and almost instantly a burning pain took hold of my wrists, my restrains now on full fire. It took but a second before I could tug the ruined material apart, and as I freed myself and got to my feet, the burns to my skin faded. Caldwell turned around to face me at that moment. He seemed surprised to see me up and about, and didn't hesitate in raising his arm towards me, a gun nestled safely within his grasp. He squeezed the trigger, and a shot rung out. On my silent command, the bullet stopped an inch before it could pierce my chest. In truth, it was pure luck that I had managed to react as quickly as I did. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I carefully plucked the bullet from the air and closed my fingers around it. Caldwell looked frightened now, and I knew he was about to unleash another bullet my way. This time, I was ready however, and as a second and third shot rung out, I had disappeared from my previous spot, only to appear behind him. My hands clamped down on the sides of his head and forcing my will upon him, I made him relinquish his weapon.

"You knew..." he whimpered, shaking like a leaf beneath my ministrations. "You knew I was comin' for you. You let me take you." I smiled serenely in response to his suspicions, though he was unable to see me do so. "Why?" he asked.

"Your grandfather took something from me the night we met," I confessed, silently compelling Caldwell to raise his right arm. Releasing one side of his head, I gently pulled the Malachite bracelet from his wrist and placed it upon my own, a sense of relief washing over me once it was back in its rightful place. Caldwell didn't resist, but he scoffed in indignation.

"You risked your life for a stupid bracelet?"

"I don't expect you to understand," I said, my gaze fixed on the beautiful green Malachite. "To you it is a piece of sentimental value, given to you by your thieving grandfather. But to me, it can mean the difference between life and death." I had acquired the bracelet shortly after I first escaped my aunt Dahlia, and it carried a powerful concealment charm that I believed to this day had kept me off her radar. It had been a terrifying experience, losing it, those hundred years ago, forced into hibernation before I could reclaim it. I would never part with it again.

I had never enjoyed bloodshed, and I could have let James Caldwell live, but in the end I decided against it. How many witches had died at his hand, I did not know. But it would end here. On that night. With a stroke the coroners would never be able to explain.


	3. Give Me Hell

"Bloody hell. What happened?"

Rebekah's dark eyes opened to look at me where she lay on my sofa, pain and confusion marring her caramel skin. She did not look like the woman I had known to be Rebekah Mikaelson, but it was still very clear to me, and had been from the moment I awoke, that this was indeed my sister. Blonde ringlets had been replaced with ebony curls, blue eyes had turned a warm shade of brown, and most striking of all, at least to me - she was human. A human endowed with magical powers, but a human nonetheless. It was baffling to me that Esther would have chosen this body for her youngest daughter. Not because it wasn't a fine body, per se, but because of the evil soul that had inhabited it for twenty-plus years. A skilled witch like Esther should have realized such evil would not disappear simply because a new spirit forced its way in. It was still there, lingering just beneath the surface of that which was Rebekah, waiting for the prime moment to break through and continue its wicked deeds. The magical community was in an uproar, witches and warlocks furious that Marcel would allow Eva Sinclair to roam the streets a free woman, after she had kidnapped and murdered so many of their children. They did not care that the body no longer solely belonged to the wicked witch, but also an Original vampire. And why would they? From the moment I had freed Rebekah from the Witch Asylum, children had begun to disappear again. The parents wanted justice, and though most had heeded Elijah's warning to stay away until they could find a solution, a few had not. Three such individuals had attacked my sister that night, and had I not come to her aid, she would have died.

"You've been beaten quite badly," I confessed in a soft voice, my palms hovering over Rebekah's abdomen where severe bruises bloomed upon her skin. "Not to worry, though. I'll have you good as new in no time." A small smile curved my lips as ancient magic erupted from my hands, healing the marks of internal bleeding to a fault, moving the process down to her legs once I finished. Her face was still stained with blood, but all wounds there had closed up several minutes before Rebekah had woken. She stared at me in amazement as I worked, heavily lidded eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and curiosity.

"Freya..." she smiled lazily, her head falling back onto the sofa cushion. "You saved me. What happened to the witches?"

Avoiding my sister's gaze, I pulled a blanket up over her and lit a fire in the fireplace with a flick of my wrist, warmth soon spreading through the room.

"They can't harm you," I told her, resting on my haunches beside the couch, gently moving a lock of hair from her face. "While you are here, no one can harm you. And you yourself can do no harm."

I searched the expression on her face as I whispered this, curious to see if a flicker of recognition would spark her dark gaze. But it didn't. She could not remember what she had done, what Eva had done...

"Don't hurt them. They're just parents worried for their children's safety. I would have done the same had I been in their shoes. Don't hurt them, please..." Such a kind girl, deep down and when it truly mattered. Far better than I ever was. I gave her a kind smile and placed two fingers upon her forehead, willing her into a deep sleep from which she would awake a few hours later.

"Sleep, little sister."

Leaving my bedchamber behind, I ventured out to the room that lay beyond, the one I used as a makeshift kitchen. A woman was sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of the floor, a thick line of red sand circling her, keeping her prisoner for as long as the grains remained in place. She was awake now, though she had been unconscious when I brought her here. She scowled up at me from behind a mane of thick, red hair as I approached, her fingers clutching the armrests until her knuckles went white.

"You have no right keeping me here," she hissed, throwing her head back to reveal a look of livid rage.

"You had no right lynching my sister, and yet you did anyway." I replied coldly, coming to a halt before her with my arms folded over my chest.

"This is all your fault. You freed that murderous bitch and gave her free reign to kill again. You're the reason our children is dying!" Her anger was legitimate. I could understand it, I could justify it, but I would not defend it. Not today. Not when it was aiming for my sister.]]

"You're hunting for a ghost," I said, knowing full well I was lying]] "The girl who brought you so much pain, is no more. Only her body remains, and that now belongs to my sister, Rebekah Mikaelson."

The witch scoffed with indignation. "Witch or vampire, your family has done enough damage to this town as is. No more. We won't allow it any longer." I paid little mind to her words, subtly moving to snatch a knife off the counter. "What...you're going to kill me now!?" The witch continued, her furious demeanor slightly infected with fear, her eyes following the knife rather than me.

"It brings me no pleasure to do so. But it is necessary." I admitted, idly toying with the blade whilst observing my prisoner. Trembling, the witch looked as though she was considering a plea for her life, and then seemed to think better of it. Perhaps her pride would not let her.

"You won't get away with this," she hissed. "My sisters will come for me, and they will destroy you!" That was the confirmation I had been waiting for. The promise her coven would would stop at nothing to kill me. Even if it meant they would need to find a way to break my bond with Dahlia first. Even if they would spend day and night exhausting all their resources to make it happen. If they succeeded, I would be one step closer to regaining my freedom. Leaning down over the chair the witch was occupying, I rested one hand upon the armrest, the other lingering at my side with the knife. My eyes fixed on hers, I drove the blade deeply into her abdomen, just beneath her ribs, angling it upwards to pierce a vulnerable heart.

"I'm counting on it."


	4. Some Things Must Die

_A few weeks ago:_

"Raise your sword, Freya."

I did as my father commanded, lifting the heavy weapon he had handed me moments earlier up before my face. Mikael raised his as well. He looked so somber and serious it made my whole face glow with amusement. Upon noticing, he raised one eyebrow on a stern, silent question.

"I'm sorry. I just fail to see the point of this." I laughed, dropping the sword to my side again. My arm was already beginning to feel tired. It had been a long time since I'd been forced to use such a weapon. In fact, it hadn't occurred since I was a small child in Mikael and Esther's care. Of course, as a five-year old, my sword had been smaller, shorter and a lot lighter in weight, but it had still been sharp enough to cut through flesh, something I had proven when accidentally slicing my father's leg during one of these exercises. When it happened, I had been terrified. Scared of the blood that seeped from my father's injury and even more so scared of his anger, which he had never unleashed on me before, but that I had seen him use on Esther on several occasions. To my surprise he wasn't angry, and instead pulled me into his warm embrace, laughing and pressing kisses atop my head, praising me as though he had never seen a child do anything more wonderful. In hindsight, I realised he must have let me make the hit in an attempt to raise my self esteem. Because Mikael was too skilled a warrior to ever lose to someone who had never handled a sword, much less a five year old girl. But his plan worked. I grew more confident in my abilities, and after a few months I could best all the other children my age in our play-fights. I relished in this time spent with my father, because I suspected it would all but end once Finn was old enough to take my place. But perhaps I had been mistaken, because here we were, father and daughter, a thousand years later, still playing the same old game.

 _Current day:_  
The street-lights flickers as I walk the empty street from Niklaus's compound, bulbs shattering and spraying me and the sidewalk with broken glass. I barely notice, and certainly don't care. My great power is tied to my emotions and right now I feel murderous. Livid. Hurt. Crushed. I do not even make the tiniest effort to control the damaging energy that flows from my very being. The asphalt cracks and falls apart beneath my feet, leaving a trail behind me like muddy footprints. Several car alarms blasts off in a shrill symphony, front and tail lights blinking uncontrollably, the windows on all sides shattering just like the light bulbs above them.

Despite all this, I move like the walking dead, slow listless movements and a blank stare. I know I'm not alone. I can feel Elijah trailing behind me, respectfully keeping his distance yet ensuring I get home safe. Any other day, I would invite him to walk with me. But I am still furious with my little brother. The place where his hands clasped about my arms still throb painfully, as he never let me go, as if he is still trying to prevent me from lashing out at Niklaus. Logically, I know he had good intentions. I know he was trying to prevent further damage to the both of us, that he knew Niklaus killing our father is the only chance we have at getting rid of Dahlia for good. I know it, and yet, at this very moment, I allow my logic to give way for vindictive thoughts. Niklaus had killed him without a second thought. As if he was a bug to be squashed under the sole of his boot. A cockroach, not a man. Not a father. I suppose in the eyes of my siblings, Mikael was nothing but a monster. The devil underneath their beds. But to me, he was the only person in the world who cared about me. And I was going to be his redemption. I make a vow to myself in that moment, among the debris of what used to be a a well-functioning street, that once we are all safe from Dahlia's wrath, I will unleash a torment upon my hybrid brother in a way he cannot even begin to imagine.

 _A few weeks ago - continued:_  
"The point is, you need to learn how to protect yourself," Mikael said gruffly, expertly twirling his sword, a display of intimidation. This time it was my turn to look quizzical. After Dahlia I was the oldest witch to still live, and every day my power continued to grow. If there was something I needed, protection by sword was not it. Interpreting my expression correctly, Mikael continued:

"What if your magic fails you one day? What will you do then?"

I frowned, raising my sword to block his as he brought the blade down towards me. The first clash of weapons was enough to make me realise unless Mikael intended to let me win again, I would never best him.

"Magic or not," I groaned, clumsily blocking his second blow, "this will not save me from Dahlia."

Mikael's eyes darkened and he ceased his advances. "I was not thinking of her, but of the hybrid you have chosen to join forces with."

Lowering my sword, I exhaled in a mix of surprise and disappointment. I had heard of my father's hatred for Niklaus, but no one had yet told me why it was this way.

"Why do you hate him so, father?" I asked softly, watching as Mikael's gentle face transformed to a mask of pure loathing.

"Do you even need to ask me that? You know what he is capable of." I found this statement ironic, especially coming from him. He was no angel himself, and though I did not wish to know the details, I suspected Mikael had brought just as much pain and suffering as the rest of my siblings.

"He was not always this way," I reminded him, "He was once a child, willing to do anything for your love and approval." I had witnessed this myself during our spell to save Rebekah from Eva Sinclair, when he and Elijah had served as the anchors for my magic, opening up their minds for me to explore. Mikael did not respond, but his furious expression stayed frozen. Against my better judgement, I decided to challenge him a little.

"You know what I think? I think the reason you have always been so angry with Niklaus comes down to one simple reason - he's not yours. I think every time you look at him, all you see is Esther's betrayal. And though it is understandable, it does not justify the way you've treated him. He is not to blame for Esther's adultery."

In this moment, I could recognise what my brothers and sisters had always told me about our father, that he was a tyrant with such anger even Thor himself would cower. It was visible in every inch of his face, in the tightening of his fists, the rigid stance of his body. As a first time victim to his fury, it was quite frightening. In a flash of movement he had struck the sword out of my hand. It clattered to the floor where it continued to lay untouched.

"You do not know him, child. And I do not wish for you get to know him. For I know that will only happen by him breaking your heart. And for that reason alone, though believe me, I have many others, I will not rest until he lies dead at my feet." Mikael accentuated his cold promises by grasping my chin, forcing our eyes to meet. We both knew compulsion would never work on me, but a part of me felt that if he was able to, he would have forced his will upon me at that moment.

"I am your daughter, and he is my brother. We are a family." I whispered, saddened by his attitude and perhaps a bit disappointed in myself for not being able to convince him to change. After all these years I had finally found my family, but it felt as though I was not allowed to celebrate. Mikael shook his head and tightened his grip upon me. Though as he recognised the pain that flashed across my face, he quickly released me, stepping away.

"You do not see it now, but you will. The hybrid is and will continue to be our downfall."


	5. Return Of A Friend

"Take your time much?"

An impatient female called from behind Freya, successfully drawing the barista's attention as well as a few other waiting patrons. Some murmured their approval, others averted their gaze in embarrassment, silently agreeing but not willing to voice such out loud. Freya turned to look over her shoulder and was met with the sight of a tall, slender redhead whose pretty face was currently creased in irritation. Her arms were folded beneath her voluptuous breasts, squeezing them together to create an impressive cleavage most would have trouble ignoring. Freya smiled and took a step to the side, gesturing for the redhead to take her place.

"Please, go ahead. You are clearly in a hurry." Freya had been foolish enough to allow herself an extra five seconds to place her drink order. Most of the items on the menu were brand new to her. Too many choices. No familiar names. Was it no longer possible to purchase an ordinary cup of coffee? The redhead eyed Freya dubiously, doubting her sincerity before finally stepping up to the counter.

"Caramel Ribbon Crunch Frappuccino Blended Coffee," she demanded of the barista, snapping her long fingers impatiently and returning to stare at her phone. Freya wondered what had the girl in such a hurry, was almost tempted to ask. Then again, everyone was in a hurry these days. Patience was a word most seemed unfamiliar with.

"You should not have given her your spot. Not when time is running out for you as well, my beautiful Freya." Something cold fanned down the back of Freya's neck, sending a ripple of shivers through her entire body. That voice. That all too familiar voice.

"Is it that time of year already?" She turned to meet the dark eyes of her old friend. He who had never abandoned her. Never left her side no matter what. He was just as beautiful as always; clean-shaven handsome features, black tussled hair, a smile to die for. All that had changed about Him through the centuries were His attires. Upon their first meeting, He had been draped in a long velvet cloak. Today, He wore a tailor-fit pinstripe suit, not unlike the ones Elijah normally wore.

"I have been longing for this moment," He admitted, placing a hand at the small of Freya's back and leading her over to a vacant table. "One year is not enough." Freya folded her hands in her lap, crossed her legs and smiled without humour.

"You don't have to tell me."

A waitress hurried over and placed two steaming cups of coffee on the table before them. Freya stared at her in bewilderment. She had not yet ordered. Of course, one look at Him across from her told her He had worked His magic. She should have known.

"You used to be a lot more pleased to see me, Freya," He said, one hand clutching the newly delivered cup as if the heat did not bother Him in the least. "In fact, there was a time when you begged me to come."

Freya winced noticeably at the memory, preoccupying herself with her coffee, swallowing a large mouthful even if the liquid close to scalded her throat. She could not deny it. There had been several occasions when she had called out His name, pleading with Him to give her what she craved. But now she no longer wanted it.

"Times have changed," she murmured into her cup, gifting Him with a kind smile once she withdrew, "You can't have me. I won't allow it."

He looked sympathetic, grasping her hand across the table and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

"You are right. Times have changed. And for the first time, I /can/ have you." When He released her, He vanished from sight. He was still there, though. Freya could feel Him. Watching. Waiting. It wouldn't be long.

Trembling, she remained in silence, drinking her coffee and observing the activity in the café. She wondered who among them it would be, who would suddenly lash out like a man possessed. In the end, it turned out to be none of them. A sudden pain shot through Freya's abdomen as though someone had just plunged her with a knife. She lurched forward, pressing her palm to her flat stomach, gasping for air as her lungs filled with blood.

Falling to her hands and knees on the floor, she sputtered, her mouth wide open as the hand pressed to her middle charged with magic, forcing the poison out of her in the form of thick, black tar. She paid no mind to the shrieks and frightened voices around her, nor the demand that someone needed to call an ambulance. Her eyes watered with pain, but she never ceased her work, expelling the toxic that had been added to her coffee until she had nothing more to to give. Exhausted, blood trickling from her mouth as she collapsed on her side, Freya set a blank stare upon the ceiling, the other panicking patrons and paramedics mere blurs to her eyes as He whispered in her ear.

"Let go, Freya. It's time. You cannot elude me any longer. You cannot escape Death."

 _To be continued_


	6. Return Of A Friend - Part 2

\- 2

"Why isn't she waking?"

"Give her a bloody minute, Nik. She was just poisoned."

"Thought she was supposed to be invulnerable, like our dear aunt Dahlia?"

"Clearly things have changed since Dahlia died."

Niklaus and Rebekah's voices drew Freya from her unconscious state. She woke with a start, inhaling sharply as her eyelids fluttered open. All she could see was a bright light, too bright, so bright it felt as though her eyeballs were melting in their sockets. She groaned and raised her hand to her face in an attempt to shield herself. Around her, there was movement. Someone striding across the room to close the blinds.

"Took you long enough."

Freya squinted through her fingers to where the voice had originated, her blurred sight landing on Niklaus' face. He was sitting in a chair just beside her bed, his feet propped on her mattress and his arms folded behind his head. Whatever had just happened, he didn't look too concerned.

"Freya." It was Rebekah who spoke this time. She rounded the bed to stand on Niklaus' side, her dark gaze consumed with worry and uncertainty. Her hand found Freya's and she squeezed it gently. "How do you feel?"

Freya's lips were sore and chapped, and her mouth painfully dry. The act of speaking proved difficult at first.

"Like I've been kicked in the head by a horse," she croaked eventually, her entire body screaming in protest of the effort it took her to do so. Things were unclear. Not just her surroundings, but the memories of how she had gotten here. And why she was laying in bed surrounded by her siblings in the first place. "What happened?"

Rebekah looked, if possible, even more concerned. "You don't remember?"

Freya searched her mind, so hard it appeared to make the pain intensify. Flashes of images came back to her, bits and pieces. The cafe. Coffee. Death. She smiled bitterly, the already broken skin of her lips cracking further as they stretched. "I was poisoned," she murmured, one hand flying to her throat as if she could still feel the venom burn her esophagus. "How did you find me?"

Rebekah brushed Niklaus' feet aside and sat down on the mattress where they had just been. "They called me from the hospital. My number was the one most used in your phone, so they made the connection," she said, her thumb rubbing soothing circles along the back of Freya's hand.

"They said you managed to rid yourself of most of the poison on your own," Niklaus added, a curious look gleaming in his eyes. "And that the cafe looked like a crime scene after you finished." He grinned.

"You were severely dehydrated when you got to the hospital, so they gave you some fluids and ran a few tests. The doctors said it was miraculous, but that you will be fine, in time," Rebekah continued, a small comforting smile spreading on her face. "Who did this to you?"

Freya considered that question a moment. She didn't know who had added the poison to her coffee, but she knew perfectly well on whose orders they had been acting.

"It does not matter," she murmured, freeing herself from Rebekah's grasp and pushing herself up to sit. "The one who lashed out this time, will not be the same as the next. " At the look of confusion and apprehension on her siblings' faces, she added: "Yes, it will happen again. By different means, I'm sure. It seems I've eluded Death for too long, and he will no longer stand for it."

Rebekah and Niklaus looked at her in astonishment, as though they were questioning her sanity. Freya did not blame them. Their own encounter with Death had been so long ago, and so brief, they would not remember. To them, Death could not be seen as a person. But Freya knew, all too well...

From the moment Dahlia had died, Death had circled around Freya like a hungry crow, waiting to take that which had been denied him for the past thousand years. And now he had gotten a taste, Freya was certain he would not stop until he had succeeded.

"I think I'm dying," she whispered, revolted with how frightened she sounded.

Rebekah and Niklaus exchanged uncertain looks. "The doctors said-" Rebekah begun, but Freya raised a hand to silence her, smiling sadly.

"No human, witch or otherwise, is supposed to live this long. I think this is nature's way of setting things straight."

Niklaus leaned forward in his chair, the look of disinterest he had carried earlier replaced with defiance and fury. He considered his eldest sister a moment before biting into his wrist, his mouth coming away stained with blood. "Drink," he commanded, all but thrusting his arm towards Freya. "It will cure whatever ails you."

Freya wrinkled her nose and automatically shifted further away from him.

"No offense, little brother, but I'd rather die than risk becoming a vampire. That is not my fate," she said.

For a moment it seemed Niklaus toyed with the idea of forcing her, not used to not getting his way. Then, he withdrew his arm and let the wound close, his eyes still blazing with anger. "And what of my daughter? What will become of her should you die? You promised you would take care of her."

That I did, thought Freya, guilt tugging at her heart. Little Hope would never be able to control her powers without Freya's help. For now, she would be okay, but when she was older, a teenager...Freya was certain she would lay entire cities to ruin in fits of anger, like she herself had done so many years ago.

"I want to, Niklaus," she said softly, "More than anything, to be there for my niece, to be with you and Rebekah and Elijah. But I don't know how to cheat death on my own. Unless-"

Freya and Niklaus stared at each other, their eyes widening in uncanny synchronicity, realisation dawning on them both.

"Unless you bind yourself to me," Niklaus said, voicing Freya's thoughts aloud, "Like Dahlia meant to. My demise would be the only thing that could kill you. You would never grow old, you would never be sick, you would heal like I do." A dark grin claimed him. "And you would be able to protect and guide my daughter for as long as she needs it."

A spark of excitement flared within Freya. Bound to Niklaus, she would be able to live for the very first time. Her life would not be confined to one single year at a time. She would not have to sleep for centuries to remain young. Bound to her brother, she would never have to be alone again.

 _Later, that same evening:_

On the balcony of the Mikaelson residence, a table had been readied for the spell. Under the pale light of the moon, it carried the necessary ingredients. White candles had been placed in every corner and along the edges, an infinity symbol drawn with blessed salt decorated the middle of the surface, and in both of the symbols loops stood two urns. One held Niklaus' blood, the other Freya's.

Rebekah and Elijah remained inside, keeping a safe distance to their hybrid brother and witch sister while the two took their places on the balcony. Freya, who was still a little shaky, took Niklaus' hand in her own, squeezing tightly as they stopped before the makeshift alter. She shot a look at him, silently giving him one last chance to back out of their deal should he wish to do so. He gave her a nod, urging her to get started. With a wave of her free hand, Freya ignited the candles before her, her ancient ancestral magic instantly flaring, submerging her focused mind to a kind of trance.

"Medareno sometswar," she heard herself chant in a dark, almost unrecognizable voice. "Medareno sometswar." The air around the two became heavily charged with magical energy. Back inside the house, Rebekah and Elijah could feel it crackle with electricity, and they took another few steps back.

"Medareno sometswar. Medareno sometswar. Medareno sometswar."

The chalices upon the tables were overflowing with blood, the thick crimson fluids spilling over their rims and onto the wooden surface, each stream nearing the other with a slow, but steady pace. The moment they connected, in the center of the infinity symbol, Freya's voice fell away. She and Niklaus gasped as part of their spirits merged, their heads thrown back, eyes closed as the spell took hold, binding brother and sister in eternity.


	7. Forever Mine

**Forever Mine**

 **Kingdom of Norway - 1414 A.D.**

"Hurry! We don't have much time."

I caught Matthias' hand and urged him on, leading the way through the snow-laden forest. Our footprints were easy to track on the white ground, but as long as we made it down to the docks, I would not matter. A ship was awaiting us there to give us safe passage to Denmark, where, if we were cautious and clever enough, we might elude Dahlia long enough to find a way to break her magical connection with me.

Running through snow in a floor-length dress and eight months pregnant was no easy feat, but I forced myself to not succumb to the aching pain in my feet, and the growing obstruction to my windpipe. I could endure ten minutes of agony and would gladly pay the minor consequences later as long as I could bring my unborn son and the man I loved to safety.

Matthias came to a sudden halt behind me, but did not let go of my hand. Because his physical strength outweighed my own, I was pulled back with a groan, wincing and quickly re-positioning myself to avoid damage to my shoulder.

"What is it?" I breathed, my voice escaping on a cloud of frosty smoke.

Matthias frowned at me, and looked as though he was about to answer. But when his mouth opened, no words were uttered, only a feeble whimper and sudden copious amounts of blood.

"No!" I screamed, as he sunk to his knees, blood continuing to pour from his mouth, nose, eyes and ears. I knew the cause long before she appeared. There, towering between two pine trees stood Dahlia, her eyes black with cruelty, her hand raised in a fist before her.

"Stop it! Dahlia, no!" A twinge of pain erupted in my lower abdomen, the child within me shifting in discomfort as though my distress caused him physical pain. Dahlia said nothing, and did not release Matthias from her hex. He was watching me with a look of desperation, a silent plea for help I could not give him. No one could stop Dahlia. No one was powerful enough.

As my lover's body fell silent to the forest floor, my knees buckled beneath me and I was overcome with heart-wrenching sobs. The tears would not halt, and I did not try to make them. I felt Dahlia draw near, the sound of her winter cloak dragging along the powdery snow mingled with my grieving cry. No other sound could be heard. There were no animals here. They had all fled the scene when dark magic entered.

"Stop crying, child," Dahlia demanded in a calm, yet impatient voice. "He was nothing. Nothing but a means to an end." She pressed the tip of her boot to Matthias' crimson cheek, lifting his face just enough for her to examine it before she released him with a contemptuous sight. "Filth."

Angrily, I swatted her foot away, raising a tearfilled gaze that burned intensity to look upon the face of the devil herself. "How could you?" I cried, my features contorted in rage. "How could you do this to me? I loved him! He loved me!" Catching Matthias' cold face in both my hands, I cradled him to me as much as my pregnant belly would allow, crying like I had cried the day I was taken from my mother.

"Love," Dahlia mused, a dark smile igniting, "He never loved you, child. The only reason he wanted you was because I made him."

My sobs subsided. I looked at up at her in shock. "What?"

"I cast a spell, made him seek you out. Made him think he loved you, so you would return his feelings." She paused, looking surprised by my gobsmacked reaction. "I told you, Freya, your siblings can never give me another child. That duty lies with you now." She crouched down and placed a tender hand upon my stomach, her gaze transfixed. "And I will have what is owed to me."

She was insane. I had known this for quite some time, but somehow, I had never expected her to take such drastic measures to get what she wanted. The thought that every moment with my beloved Matthias had been nothing but a lie, made my heart ache in a way I had never experienced before. I believed the pain would be less had Dahlia just ripped it from my chest. I had no words.

"Come now, child. Did you really think you would be able to escape me? You are mine. I feel you - in here," she whispered and placed a hand to her chest. "Cry for him no more. He was just another viking descendant, brute and ignorant, like your father. He is not worthy of your tears."

She rose gracefully to her feet and caught my arms, tugging me up along with her despite my shaky legs and trembling hands. I knew there was no use in trying to make her see the error of her ways. I had tried my entire life. Dahlia would never change. I stood there, my hands limp in hers, believing myself to be all out of the powerful emotions that had through from me minutes earlier. I was drained.

"Let us go home, and I will make you an infusion of chamomile to calm your nerves. We must not harm our child." Dahlia crooned, assuming her usual pretense of a motherly figure.

Something within me broke as her words registered. Our child. Our. The bitch had taken everything from me, and she still had the audacity to assume she would have a claim on MY son. Eyes blazing with fury, I tore my hands from hers, and charged with magic I slammed them against Dahlia's bony chest, sending her flying through the trees, and into the darkness where I could no longer see her. "You will never have my son," I whispered.

Running all the way back to our cottage, fueled by anger and a determination to stop Dahlia's reign of terror, I was out of breath once I finally arrived. Pushing the animal pelts away from the doorway, I made straight for Dahlia's collection of potions, very aware I probably only had seconds before she would catch up with me. Trembling fingers finally closed about a flask of red liquid, and I brought it to my lips, draining the entire thing just as Dahlia burst inside, her eyes wide with fear as she saw what I was doing.

"I gave you everything. You dare to take what is mine!?"

I dropped the empty bottle to the floor and shot her a look of defiance, managing a triumphant smile before the poison took hold of me and pulled me under the lull of death. Victory was mine.

Dahlia had told me stories of what happens to a witch when she dies. "We never truly die," she had told me one night when I was nine. "Though our earthly bodies may be broken and beyond repair, our spirits remain. We will be in the earth, in the trees of the forest, the gentle breeze that shake the leaves, and in the ocean, as wild and unruly as we are. A witch never dies."

In the darkness, I waited. For Dahlia's words to become true. For a feeling of freedom, for the weight of past pain and trauma to release me, to be one with nature. But it never came.

My eyes shot open and I inhaled in a deep gasp. My heart beat hard and frantic within my chest, as though it was trying to find its normal rhythm and failing miserably. I looked around wildly, shock and disbelief washing over me as I was met with the sight of our little hut, Dahlia beside me on my bed of furs.

I did not know what day it was, or if time had even progressed since I was last awake. But as I sat up, I realized it must have. My clothes were changed. "How can this be? How am I alive?" I uttered in bewilderment, voice trembling.

"The spell that sealed our magic sleep guards us from all forms of harm," Dahlia informed me casually, her eyes following me as I rose from the bed to stand. "But the spell did not protect everyone..."

Another twinge of pain attacked me, and I knew it was true before I even looked down. My round belly had disappeared, now as taut and flat as it had been before I conceived my son. As though I had never been pregnant at all...

My head spun. Heart throbbing with agony, gut wrenching with guilt because of what I had done. Killed my own child, in a foolish attempt to secure our freedom. Once more, tears sprouted from my eyes and fell down pale cheeks in abundance. Clutching the fabric of my dress, fingers desperately searching for the unborn child that was no longer there, I fell back onto the bed, sobbing.

"My baby."

I had thought the pain of losing Matthias would be the worst one possible, but this...His death did not even compare. It was as though someone was ripping me limb from limb, over and over again, choking me, blinding me, burning my skin and peeling it off my flesh.

I barely noticed as Dahlia embraced me, her chin resting atop my head, her voice quite calm and serene. "There, there, my child... I will forgive you for this. Eventually. But you can never forget there is no escape from me. Not. Even. Death."


	8. Witch Wars - 1

**WITCH WARS**

 **Part 1**

When the people of the twenty-first century think of viking burials, it is often a burning ship at sea that comes to mind. But it was not always so. In my day, when I was a young maiden free of the immortality aunt Dahlia forced upon me, most of the Norsemen were laid to rest in the earth. The bodies were cremated, burned on a funeral pyre for hours until nothing but ashes remained. It was believed that the smoke would allow our souls to find their way to the afterlife, before the ashes were buried along with weapons, jewellery, coins, and all else the dead might need in the life that was to come. Each grave was marked with a tumulus, a mound of earth or stones, making it possible to locate the grave for hundred of years to come. Many of them still remain to this day. In my homeland, tumuli as large as hills can be found in the fields and forests, a sign of viking royalty having been laid to rest there.

In the forest where I lived with Dahlia most of my childhood, south-east in the Kingdom of Norway, there was such a graveyard. It was a small clearing surrounded by tall trees that blocked out direct sunlight. No herbs or flowers would grow there, only moss and grass that yellowed and waned away almost as soon as it peeked out of the earth. It was a gathering place for crows and ravens, who like me, could stay there for hours and hours, enjoying the calm and silence, and as for me, the slight thrill of knowing I was in close proximity to my long-gone ancestors. My maternal grandmother's ashes were buried there, like her mother before her, and her mother before that. Dahlia never set foot upon the graveyard, and though I cannot know for certain, I think she was frightened it would somehow allow her mother to see the monster she had become.

But she always encouraged me to go. "The earth is filled with the magic of our mothers and fathers, and they will bless you with the power that is rightly yours," she once said. With every visit, I would talk to my grandmother, pray to her to make my parents come back for me, and though I never got answers or the fulfilment of my childish dream, it always made me feel a little lighter.

 **||Present day – Norway||**

My bare feet, red and raw from the cold, press down upon wet grass as I gingerly make my way across the field. I can only manage a few minutes before I am forced to stop and put my shoes back on again. Sitting on a rock, I peel dead colourful leaves off my soles before engulfing icy toes in warm socks and proper footwear again. It is autumn, and there is a chill in the wind. A whisper, a promise, that snow will be coming soon enough, and that the animals and birds in this land must prepare for winter. Though I channel my brother's immortality, I am not exempt from the unpleasant cold, or indeed a case of frostbite, but I just couldn't help myself. Five hundred years have passed since I was last here, and the urge to feel Norwegian soil under my feet has clawed at me ever since the departure from New Orleans.

The landscape that was once so familiar to me has changed greatly. What was once a lake leading to the ocean, where merchants and fishermen would sail their ships, is now dry land inhabited by a smattering of houses. Most of the roads are paved with asphalt, though a few remain as they were back then, made of dirt and gravel that falls away every time it rains. Mountains have been blown away, piece by piece, to create more opportunities for real-estate, and entire forests have been cut down to provide today's generations with warmth during the long winter. A natural development, perhaps, but the sight still tugs at my heart.

With my shoes back on, I cross the remainder of the flat field in a sprint, my arms stretched out on either sides of me like wings, my legs carrying me so quickly I feel as if I am flying. Before me lies the part of the forest called Trollskogen – Troll's Forest. It got its name a long time ago, because of the trees that grow so thickly together no sunlight can penetrate it, surrounded by tall cliffs in strange angles that make them look like petrified giants. Back in the day, very few dared enter, for the threat of trolls, draugar, and undead spirits were more than they could stomach. It also happened to be the entrance to Dahlia's piece of land where she built the hovel we lived in for fifteen years. My memories of the little house itself are not pleasant, but the pull of my ancestors' resting place is stronger than any memory. Besides, there is no chance the hovel is still standing. A thousand years have passed.

As I step forth, my stomach lurches and a sense of dread settles upon me. The forest is dying. I know from the moment I breach the tree line. There is something dark here, something rotten and corrupted. Something that does not belong. Another step, and I can take no more. The sound of my ancestors' cries of rage and pain envelope me, and is the last thing I hear before I collapse on the forest floor.


	9. Underworld

The snow brings with it a hushed silence, a serene calm that claims the landscape like a blanket. My bare feet grow numb and cold almost from the very beginning. Snowflakes land and melt in my blonde hair and on my eyelashes. I pay it no mind. I walk through the village with mingled trepidation and fascination, eyeing the men and women posed outside their huts, drinking mead and sharing stories of war and glory. They watch me in return once I move among them, and their voices die down. I am not one of them. Not yet. My heart still beats in my chest. I still have a life to live.

Yet they leave me in peace. The height of their objections to my presence only visible in their eyes. I am on a mission, and they know the smattering of huts and smithies, I make my way to the very end of the village, and from there on continue up a steep slope. My icy breath hurts my lungs and I find myself longing to get inside, to stand by a roaring fire to thaw my cold skin.

The hut on top of the hill stands out against its white backdrop. The woodwork is dark, and with no windows or lights, it appears to me like a shadow. My insides squirm in anticipation as I near the door. I cannot be certain of what will meet me when I step inside, but I am thoroughly convinced it will be unpleasant. I do not bother knocking.

The interior is far more warm and cozy than expected. The dirt floor carries a heat from the hearth positioned in the center of the room, making me curl my toes in delight. A pot of stew is bubbling over the fire, the scent of my mother's cooking hits me like a brick to the face, igniting memories I thought to be long lost. At a scrubbed wooden table sit two young women – one with hair as fair as my own, the other with locks the color of the earth. The blonde's hand lays with its palm upturned in the brunette's grasp, and the latter seems to be scrutinizing every line, the tip of her prominent nose nearly touching skin. They look up as I enter, identical expressions of surprise spread across their familiar faces.

"Freya," Esther breathes, withdrawing her hand from Dahlia and hesitantly rising to her feet. "What...How..."

She fails to finish her words, and merely stands there, mouth slightly open, staring.

"You are not dead," Dahlia remarks, the shock of seeing me dissipating from her dark gaze to be replaced with scrutiny.

"No," I agree, "I am quite alive."

Esther finally breaks her numb silence and hurries towards me, wrapping me in an embrace I wish to break immediately. But I don't.

"My Freya!" she exclaims, her breath fanning across my bare neck. "Why are you here?"

"/How/ did you find your way here?" Dahlia intercedes, apparently thinking her query to be more pressing. "I never taught you to walk between worlds."

Esther slips away, and I finally feel like I can breathe again. I move away from her, just a few steps, warming my hands over the fire.

"Because you never mastered such a skill." Blue eyes narrow in my aunt's direction, unable to withhold a look of purest loathing. "Your days of tutoring me are long gone, Dahlia, but believe me I am quite capable of learning on my own."

Dahlia rises from her chair and reaches for Esther, gently pulling her back, never taking those suspicious eyes off of me.

"What is your purpose here, insolent child? Have you come seeking revenge? To torment your mother and I for our past mistakes?"

I almost laugh. Mistakes? That hardly seems the appropriate word for their doings over the centuries. Murder and abuse is more like it. Esther suddenly looks fearful, her gaze flitting between her older sister and her eldest child. How I would love to tear them both apart, to inflict just a fraction of the pain and suffering they were responsible for. But this was not the time. Nor was it necessary. They were both dead. Removed from the world of my siblings and I, and onto the next.

"Don't overestimate the importance you have in my life," I say, flexing my fingers experimentally once they are no longer stiff from the cold. "My siblings and I thrive like never before. The two of you are nothing more than bad memories about to be buried for good."

Esther falls back in her chair, her face contorted with sorrow she does not voice. Dahlia's expression remains a mask of indifference.

"So what do you want?"

"Closure," I say, moving forth to minimize the space between us. "I want to know what became of my son."

Dahlia's lips twist in a cruel smirk, though something else lingers behind. Disappointment, perhaps.

"Your son?" she sneers. "You know what happened. You killed him."

That is the truth, and not one I can argue. Yet hearing my aunt speak the words makes my blood boil with rage. It must be visible upon my features, for Dahlia presses on:

"You cannot blame me for that, Freya. It was not I who put that bottle of poison to your lips. It was not I who made you drink. It was your own foolish decision."

Hastily pushing back tears of anger, my voice trembles as I address my aunt.

"You may not be the direct cause of his death, but you were the reason behind it."

Esther says nothing. Despite her obvious shock to this discovery, she remains the timid little sister, too afraid to challenge Dahlia on anything.

Dahlia makes to argue, but I hold up a hand, signalling I am not yet finished.

"I am not here to discuss my son's death." I say. "But what happened after. What did you do to his body. Did you bury him?"

Dahlia hesitates briefly, then shakes her head.

"It was in the middle of winter, Freya. You know as well as I the impossibility of burying our dead when the earth is hard as rock."

I consider this, swallowing.

"You burned him, then? Sent his spirit to the afterlife through the means of smoke?"

Again she shakes her head.

"No. I could not waste our firewood on a corpse. It takes time for a body to be rendered to ash, and the child was not worth the effort." She takes a deep breath, eyeing me with what I interpret to be cruel amusement. "I threw him to the wolves," she says finally.

I feel a break to my knees, their ability to hold me up failing. My breath escapes me in rapid, shallow rasps. My hearts pounds wildly and for a long moment all I can hear is the rushing of my own blood. My vision is clouded by tears, but it does not stop me from seeing the described scene on repeat within my mind's eye. That poor, lifeless body...torn to pieces by predators who regarded him as nothing more than food.

Esther rises from her seat and makes to move towards me, but Dahlia's outstretched arm hinders her from moving further. They watch me cry in silence – one with agony akin to what I am feeling, the other with cold indifference.

"His fingernails?" I manage to stutter between sobs, raising a tear filled gaze to my aunt.

"I left them as they were," Dahlia responds.

A renewed sense of horror and pain wash over me. How could she have been so cruel? Why would she not have honored the burial rites of our people? Had she truly hated me that much, so much she would allow my unborn son to fall prey to the jötnar by not trimming his fingernails as was custom?

Pressure builds within me, like a balloon ready to pop, and with the image of my son clear in mind, I scream, a terrible wail that blows everyone and everything before me away. My aunt and mother disappear, their hut crashing down piece by piece, the fire roaring as it meets the cold howling wind.

My eyes shoot open as my spirit returns to my body, set upon the ceiling of the house I share with Bonnie, Kai and Jo. The circle of candles around me are close to burning out, the incense and herbs needed for my trance lay scattered about the room as though a gust of wind as blown through. The sound of twin infants crying reaches me through the walls, and unable to fight it, I cry too, curled up in my sealed circle, staining the carpet with my tears.


	10. Origins Of Monstrosity

"Enlighten us, what traumas did you suffer at the hands of our aunt? Do you believe your suffering was greater than ours? She took you from Esther and Mikael, the two most incompetent and selfish parents of their time, and in doing so, in my opinion she did you a great kindness."

–Niklaus Mikaelson

●881 AD - Kingdom of Norway●

[[The morning light had just began to creep through the cracks in the wall, slowly illuminating hovel Dahlia and I shared. Seated on my cot, still in my nightwear and with a heavy reindeer pelt draped about my shoulders, I watched my aunt fill her pouches with herbs and potions. She had lit the fire a while ago, and the flames were strong enough now to heat the porridge I had made last night, sweetened with blueberries and honey. The scent quickly spread through our little lair and though I had not felt hungry up until that point, my mouth now watered. Dahlia tied her pouches to her belt and moved to scoop a small portion of our morning meal into two wooden bowls. She handed me one, and took the other for herself, eating in a hurry.

"I will be gone until nightfall," she said, breaking the silence that had claimed us since the previous night. "And when I return I expect you here to greet me."

Though curious of where she was going, I knew better than to ask. Experience told me questions would not be well received. Absently stirring my spoon through the thick porridge, I met my aunt's dark eyes over the fire, trying to decipher the message they sent. She wanted a confirmation of my obedience, and though I wished to give her one to avoid confrontation (that I always lost), my tongue seemed to run away from my mind, hastily spewing a displeased string of words I had intended to keep to myself.]]

"Why can I not come with you? Please, aunt Dahlia. I want to see what lies beyond our forest. I want to see the world."

[[She went on these trips every few months and always returned in a foul mood, smelling of smoke and with the lower half of her dress stained in blood. Because she never showed any signs of damage, I assumed the blood did not belong to her. I had conjured up many theories over the years of what her purpose of these outings were. Perhaps she was protecting our home by slaying those who came too close for her liking? Perhaps she was laying waste to entire viking villages, like she had done in the past, just to sate her own need for vengeance. Perhaps she was sacrificing some poor lost souls to the underworld in the hopes her powers would grow. Or perhaps, and this was my favored theory, she returned to the village where my mother and father resided, to renegotiate the terms of her and Esther's agreement. Maybe Esther was bargaining for me, to bring me home to Finn and Elijah and potential new siblings, and most important of all, to Mikael.

Ever since I'd been taken, my every dream had been of him charging through the wastelands on his horse, his sword raised high, coming to save me from the wicked witch who would keep me away from my family. Every day I got up hoping he would stand on our doorstep. But he never came. Nor did anyone else. And eventually, Dahlia's words started to ring true. "Your mother and father don't want you." But even so, the little girl in me still could not surrender all hope. No matter how futile.

"You know I will not allow that to happen," Dahlia said, regarding me over the fire with narrowed eyes, "You must stay here. Where you are safe. Protected."

She rose to her feet and placed her empty bowl on our makeshift table, helping herself to a sip of water from a nearby cup.

"No man may set foot upon my property without meeting a vicious fate. No one will be able take you from me, to use you for your powers. You know all that awaits you in the realm of the brutes is pain and suffering."

This was the answer she would give me every time I made a request to step off our land. But what had once been a heartfelt plea that made my insides wrench in fear and guilt, now seemed an automatic response to a child that was too thick to remember previous explanations.]]

"I suffer now!" [[I hissed, eyes ablaze with anger.]] "You keep me here, trapped and alone, with no one to look upon but you! If this is safety, I do not want it. I deserve to live, as you do, not merely exist."

[[Dahlia struck me without warning, the palm of her hand connecting with my cheek so harshly it turned my head and made my ears ring. My bowl fell from my lap, its contents splattered upon the earthen floor. Shocked by the sudden pain, my hand rose to soothe my burning skin, my mouth falling open as I looked up at the woman who had struck me without hesitation.

"Foolish, ungrateful child," she growled in a low, dark voice that somehow made the room seem smaller and void of light. "I feed you, clothe you, keep you warm in the long winters and this is the thanks I get? You should be grateful I do not kill you here and now. It would save me the agony of hearing you whine." She leaned down, her face mere inches from mine, an intimidating tactic I had seen her use many times just before she brought someone's life to an end. I could feel her warm breath on my skin, could feel my own revert from her lips and back to me. Dahlia could put fear in the bravest of men, but not me. Not now. Not with this threat.]]

"You would never," [[I whispered, my tear-filled gaze burning with anger and conviction.]] "You depend on my power. Without it, you are just another old hag banished to the dark corner of this world." [[I half expected her to strike me again, and for a moment it seemed she too was contemplating this idea. But then her lips curled in an unpleasant smile, and she took my face in both her hands.

"We shall see how long that lasts. Mark my words, Freya, if your wretched siblings don't give me a child once they've matured, I will make certain you do. And then, I might not have need for you anymore. But until that day comes - You. Stay. Here."

She pushed me away with such force my neck strained in protest, the back of my head crashing into the wall behind me. Without another glance at me, the elder witch swept out the door, leaving behind only the remnants of her threats and her nail marks upon my temples. I remained where I was a while, emotions shifting from self pity to anger and back again as quickly as rolling waves.

I hated her, I really did. But what was worse, I needed her too. Ever since she had brought me here, my magic had been grown rapidly, unleashing itself in terrifying ways that brought harm to both me and others more times than one. During my most recent fit of anger, I had conjured up a storm with no intention to do so and the birds above had fallen dead to my feet, like a macabre rain of crows and starlings. Though Dahlia was the reason behind most of my anger, she was also the only one who seemed capable of soothing me. Those moments when she took me in her arms and whispered words of comfort, singing to my quivering form was the only times I felt anything but hatred for the woman. It was as though her entire personality shifted, from villain to loving mother. And that was what I craved the most. Love.

Wiping my eyes, I eventually rose to my feet and began clearing my breakfast away, gathering the used bowls and utensils to take them down to the river later for a rinse. I changed my dress and braided my hair to keep it out of my eyes, put out the fire as the sun rose on the horizon, filling the summer day with warmth. I stepped outside to take a look, assessing the potential for this day. It would be a fine time to wash clothes, and to fix the crack in the roof, or perhaps to slaughter a goat and prepare its meat for conservation. The fish would surely bite on a day as fine as this, and the water would be warm enough for me to bathe as well. But none of the options I had before me seemed as tempting as they normally would have. Perhaps because I knew with certainty, I would have to do it all alone. Companion, beyond Dahlia, was what I wished for.

For a witch, wishes can often turn to reality, and mine was fulfilled that day. While exploring the forests around our cottage, I happened upon two children. They were roughly my age, a boy and a girl by the names of Arvid and Dagmar. Twins.

Such a find was unheard of for me. The nearest village was miles away, and its inhabitants rarely dared to stray into Dahlia's forests for it was rumored to be the home of great evil. I had not seen another child in years. Not a live child, anyway. And here were two!

I was hesitant at first, Dahlia's warnings hanging over me like a shadow, but when the twins invited me to come play with them by the river, the temptation was too great. I could not resist.

Arvid and Dagmar were ten years of age, they told me, and they traveled the country with their mother who had the gift of foresight. She could interpret dreams and signs from the gods, and she could reveal how your life was destined to be. The rich were always more than eager to pay for such services, and so the twins' mother never ran out of work.

I did not tell them of my life with Dahlia, and spoke very little, but Arvid and Dagmar seemed not to mind. They were happy and free of suspicion and distrust. They only wanted to play, and were happy they had found a new friend.

Friend. The word tasted weird on my tongue, but I liked it.

We spent the day by the river, Dagmar and I making flower-wreaths that we put in our hair, while Arvid picked berries from the nearby bushes. He brought us several fistfuls and we gorged ourselves on the sweet, red fruits until we could stomach no more. We bathed in the river and lay out on the rocks to dry off, basking in the warm sunlight like cats.

When Arvid suggested we cross the river to explore the forest on the opposite side for potential fruit trees, I did not hesitate in following. Only when I had swam across and climbed onto the riverbank did I realize my mistake.

It started as a pain in the pit of my stomach and spread to my extremities. My chest tightened, my lungs constricting, hindering me from breathing properly. My eyes went wide with fear as I witnessed the skin on my hand wither and turn a rotten black, threatening to fall away all together to expose bone.

It was a boundary spell. One of Dahlia's, it had to be. She had always warned me not to stray this far from the cottage, but I had never expected she would take such drastic measures to ensure I obeyed.

I threw myself back into the river, clumsily making my way back from where we had come, gasping for air and unable to hear the twins call my name from the other side. Once back on land, my breathing eased and the pain vanished, my hand restored to its former self as though this had been nothing more than a hallucination.

I cast a glance back at the confused children who were still calling for me, scrambled to my feet and ran. I couldn't tell them what had happened. I had no way to explain. They would think me crazy, or I would frighten them away. It was a disappointing ending to the perfect day, but a part of me felt victorious.

I had happy memories now, moments of pure innocent joy that Dahlia would never be able to take from me. Friends.

When I arrived back at the cottage, darkness had fallen and Dahlia was waiting. Cold fury marred her face and I contemplated what lies to tell her in order to save myself from her wrath. But not a single dishonest word could part with my lips. One glance from my aunt was enough to make me spill all my secrets.

To my surprise, she did not explode with anger, nor did she seem intent to punish me for my disobedience. Instead she simply ushered me inside and told me to get dinner started. She remained outside to chop firewood.

I did not question her decision, too relieved not to feel the sting of her hand upon my face, and simply did as I was told. I skinned a rabbit for our dinner, and chopped various roots and herbs to be added to a stew. Then I cleaned the rabbit pelt and hung it up to dry for later use. By the time the meat and vegetables simmered pleasantly over the fire, a few hours had passed.

Dahlia had yet to come inside, and I did not mind this in the least, but when I heard her call my name I did not delay in peering out through the doorway.]]

"Yes?"

[[It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and finally landed upon Dahlia as she slammed the axe down into a log, leaving it there for the next time wood needed to be chopped. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand before gesturing towards something in the dark.

"Your little friends are here."

I blinked rapidly, certain I had misheard her at first.]]

"My friends?"

[[I searched the space she indicated, taking a few hesitant steps away from the cottage for further examination. I saw no one. Surely it wasn't the twins? Dahlia may not have punished me for making their acquaintance, but she would never allow anyone to step foot onto her property without permission.

I looked back at her over my shoulder, confused, and she jabbed her finger impatiently in the same direction. I took another few steps, pausing abruptly when I realized the ground before me had vanished. There was a hole in the forest floor.

No.

Not a hole.

A grave.

I screamed as my gaze settled on the two pale figures that had been swallowed by the earth. There they were, brother and sister, naked bodies gleaming in the moonlight, their bellies torn open in crimson gashes that expelled their intestines, eyes wide open and milky-white, staring accusingly up at me from the abyss. Dead.

Heartache and disbelief took hold of me, sobs wrecking my tiny body until my head spun with panic and threatened to take away my ability to stand.

Dahlia came up behind me, one hand clutching my shoulder. Through tear-filled eyes I only now noticed she was spattered with blood. She looked down upon the twins serenely, but her voice was somber.

"You lead them to our home. Threatened to expose us to your father's vile people. They would have been at our doorstep before dawn, plundering our food supplies, burning our house, raping you until you bled out and died."

Her fingers tightened on my shoulder, digging in painfully.

"Look at them. This could all have been avoided had you not been such a disobedient, selfish child."

Then, she pushed me. I felt my feet lose contact with solid ground and I fell forward into the darkness. My body collided with the corpses, and once again I screamed, making futile attempts at scrambling away from the dead twins. But it was no use. There was nowhere else to go.

My fingers clawed at the earthen walls, trying to find purchase, a root, a rock, anything to help me climb out of this grave, but to no avail.

Above me, Dahlia stood watching, her eyes dark with cruel amusement.

"Play with your friends, Freya."

Something shifted beneath me, and soon, cold, dead hands reached for me through the darkness, pulling me down beneath them, filling my nostrils with the putrid stench of death, bloodied corpses slithering atop me and keeping me prisoner between them until I thought I would pass out from fear. Their nails clawed at my skin and they delivered punishing bites to my bare arms whenever I dared move too much for their liking.]]

"Dahlia, please! Make it stop! Don't leave me here! Help me! PLEASE!"

[[Screaming and crying, my pleas fell on deaf ears. Dahlia said nothing more. She just watched. And when I had exhausted myself, now a true prisoner of the twin corpses, she left. She did not return until the sun was high upon the sky the following day.]]


	11. Those We Left Behind

[[1500s]]

[The embers in the fireplace were close to dying, their warmth rapidly fading and allowing for a chill to run up my bare arms. I rubbed them absentmindedly, leaning against the windowsill to peer down at the activity in the village below, a distraction from the cold while I waited for the innkeeper's daughter, Louisa, to come bearing more firewood.

The sun had set an hour ago, and what had earlier been a crowded marketplace brimming with merchants and housewives shopping for their husbands' dinners, was now a den of inequity with prostitutes flaunting their wares to their increasingly drunken and inebriated clientele. I didn't mind. Though I rarely indulged in the company of these creatures, their town's reputation for lewd and criminal behavior was the very reason I had chosen to purchase a room for the night. It was not a place anyone would associate with me and it would likely offer me the concealment I needed until I could leave the following morning.

Though I loathed having to run and hide, it was not a new experience for me. In fact, it had become my whole life ever since I made the decision to leave Dahlia, fully aware she would never cease to hunt me down. But for once, it was not the ever-looming threat of my aunt that had swayed my decision to hole up in this rowdy inn, nor my sudden need to leave the continent all together once the opportunity came.

It was a man.

A man by the name of Marcus Lowe.

We had met a few months prior when I resided in the forest a few towns over. I'd been setting snares for rabbits one morning when I came across a wounded animal. A wolf.

The people of Britain, both common folk and nobility alike, had made it their mission to rid the isles of the wolf population that attacked their livestock and threatened human life. So aggressively in fact, the canine species was now a rarity. It did not stop the villagers from occasionally gathering hunting parties and setting vicious traps for the animals, however, and it seemed this time they had succeeded in catching one.

The wolf was huge, his fur a charcoal black, his eyes dark. His left front paw was trapped between two iron clamps with jagged edges that cut into his flesh, and though he was still fighting to free himself, even from a distance I could tell he would soon exhaust himself and submit to a slow, agonizing death.

I could also tell that this beast was not entirely animal. The energy that swirled around him, unseen to everyone who did not possess magic of their own, informed me this was a shifter. A werewolf.

It took a long time before he allowed me to near him, and even longer for him to accept my touch. When he finally let his guard down enough for me to pry the trap apart with magic, he collapsed onto his side, the wolf retreating and giving way to the man. Marcus.

He howled in pain as he clutched his mangled hand, a few of his fingers barely held on by strips of flesh and sinew. The pain proved too intense and he passed out shortly after.

At this point in time, grand shows of magic like teleportation was not something I allowed myself to make use of, unless absolutely necessary. The more magic I used, the easier it would be for Dahlia to sense and track me. And so even if I would have felt more comfortable transporting us back to the abandoned hovel I was inhabiting, I was unable to move Marcus and stayed by his side to heal him in slow, steady bursts. It took time and effort to restore his hand and ensure he would still retain the use of his fingers, but luckily he did not wake during my sessions of healing. and we were not disturbed.

He came to when night had fallen, his naked body draped in my cloak, and as soon as I was certain he would be able to make it home without further assistance, I rose to leave. But he caught me by the arm and held me back, a move that was both gentle and insistent at the same time.

Marcus was grateful, very much so, and after trusting me with his identity demanded I come home with him, to eat and bathe and procure new clothing. Apparently, my old dress, gaunt and sunken cheeks, and tangled hair, made him believe I could benefit from such treatments. He wasn't wrong.

After a few initial objections, I caved.

What can I say? Having not eaten for almost three days and knowing no food or comfort awaited me back at the hovel, my distrust and caution was quelled by my ravenous hunger and the need to feel somewhat human again.

After a short trek through the dark forest, Marcus brought me to a small settlement on the outskirts of town with several little houses surrounding what appeared to be a main lodge. Men, women, and children, came pouring out when we arrived and after Marcus regaled them with the tale of what had happened, I was suddenly embraced, patted on the shoulders, and kissed on the forehead by rejoicing werewolves. Marcus' family, I soon realized. His pack.

They welcomed me with an enthusiasm I had never before experienced. Their warmth was genuine and to them it seemed a given I was to stay for as long as I needed, to rest, and as the more elderly women of the pack told me: "Put some meat on my bones".

Despite my initial reluctance, I couldn't help but be pulled in. It was all so new, so nice. It wasn't long before I began to feel affection for them all, and before I knew it months had passed, and I was still there.

I spent most nights in Marcus' bed, greatly enjoying his company and his body, and the feelings were mutual. I opened up a little as time went on, sharing a few details of my life with him without revealing too much. Compared to Marcus I was a closed book. He did not hold back, with anything. He made his appreciation for me clear with both words and actions, and declared with frequent intervals that I was "His".

It wasn't an unusual thing with werewolves. I saw the same possessiveness and need to protect what they considered theirs with most of the adult couples in the the difference was, they were mated. Mated for life, the way wolves do. Marcus and I were not, and could never be. Not because I didn't share the wolf-trait, but because it would never work.

It wasn't that I was not tempted by what life with Marcus could offer – a partner that loved and worshiped me, protection, comfort, a family of people who truly wanted me for me and not just because of the magic I wielded. I found I craved all this and more, and the longer I stayed with Marcus, the easier it became to fantasize that this could soon become a reality.

But another part of me, the more logical part, knew it would all have to come to an end. The longer I remained in one location, the easier it would be for Dahlia to find me. And she would not be deterred by a pack of werewolves. She would kill them all without a second's hesitation to get to me. And it would be all my fault.

I was putting the entire pack in danger with my mere presence.

Besides, the call of my siblings still out there somewhere and my dream to reunite with them never faded. And that dream would never come to fruition if I chose Marcus.

So, the night before, I snuck out while Marcus was still sleeping and made my way to this seedy, little underbelly of a town. The following morning I would be on a ship heading to France, and my presence here would soon be forgotten. Or so I thought,

A knock on the door tore my gaze from the window and I moved to open it, lifting the deadbolt I had put in place earlier to ensure some extra safety, Expecting to find the innkeeper's daughter Louisa, my eyes widened in surprise as I instead came face to face with one devilishly handsome, furious werewolf.

Marcus.

He stood there in the doorway, muscular arms braced on the wall on either side of him, his dark gaze blazing with a fury that had me take a few steps back.

I wasn't afraid of him. Marcus had never harmed me, nor given any sign it was in his nature to do so. But his proximity, the scent of him that enveloped me, had me fearing for my own self-control.]

"Marcus."

[I acknowledged as I stepped back towards the dying fire, one hand outstretched to ward him off. He seemed insulted by the distance between us and quickly moved inside, shutting the door behind him with one booted foot before he stalked towards me.

Unwilling to let him get close enough to touch me, I snatched the iron-wrought poker by the fireplace and brandished it like a sword before me, a note of genuine warning in my voice as I repeated his name.]

"Marcus."

[He halted in his tracks a few feet away, eyes narrowed as they shifted from my face to the weapon in my hand and back again. He smiled, but it lacked its usual warmth. He was still furious.

"You think I wouldn't find you, Wildcat?" he growled, a deep guttural sound that rumbled through his broad chest. "You think I will just let you leave?"

Wildcat. A nickname I had earned sometime during the early stages of our relationship, when he'd discovered my penchant for fighting his dominant nature during sex. The sound of his familiar voice made my stomach clench with yearning, but I held fast.]

"I think you'll have no choice," [It wasn't as though I was trying to goad him with my honestly, but I couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at my lips as I spoke.

I had never made things easy for Marcus, no matter how much I wanted him. Had made him work and fight for everything I had given him, and I knew he loved it. He enjoyed the challenge. And I now realized it had been a mistake. Though I had never left him before, nor threatened to do so, he was so used to my words of rejection, used to this cat and mouse game that usually ended in seduction. Why would he think he couldn't get me back now?

Marcus sneered and suddenly lunged for me. Had I not been so on edge, his superior speed and strength would have ensured he'd caught me. But I was ready for him. I stepped out of the way and swung the iron bar at him, catching him in the ribs.

He gasped and doubled over, clutching the spot of impact, and I made to strike him again. Across the back this time to bring him down onto the floor. Part of me felt horribly guilty, and had I not known he would be good as new within a few hours I might not have been able to harm him at all. Well, maybe just a little bit.

As I swung out the second time, Marcus hastily righted himself and caught the iron weapon with one hand. He tugged sharply before I could let go, and yanked me to him with ease, his arms locking around my body like chains. The poker dropped to the floor at our feet and lay there, forgotten, as I valiantly fought his embrace, my back pressed to his chest. He only tightened his hold the more I squirmed and I soon felt his lips at my ear, his warm breath shooting a jolt of desire straight between my thighs.

Dammit. My body could be such a traitorous bitch.

"Stop fighting me, Wildcat," he demanded in that low rumbling voice of his, his teeth nipping my earlobe in warning.

I didn't stop, still tense and ready to flee, but when I realized no amount of writhing would get me the result I needed, I changed my tactics.]

"How did you find me?" [I spoke in a deceptively calm manner as my fingers slowly attempted to pry his arms from around me, hoping to at the very least distract him from doing what I knew his wolf was pushing him to do now he had his hands on me. Claim. Dominate. Fuck.

He chuckled darkly.

"Your scent. I could find you anywhere." His tongue teased the shell of my ear, almost making me whine in frustration. He stopped suddenly, and I felt him tense around me. "How did you manage to slip away without waking me?"

Unlike me, Marcus was a notoriously light sleeper. Any and all sounds would jostle him from his slumber, always ready for an attack. And though I had always considered myself a fairly graceful woman, all my illusions had been shattered after cohabiting with wolves and their sensitive hearing. Apparently, I had as much stealth as a drunken sailor.

I briefly paused my efforts for freedom, just long enough to attempt a slight shrug of my shoulders and to make a noise that could be interpreted as: "I don't know."

Silence followed for the next few seconds until Marcus spoke again, and despite his words I could hear the smile threatening to break across his handsome features.

"You drugged me, didn't you?"

Though he could not see my face from our current positions, I assumed a face of innocence. I may or may not have added some of my herbal blends to his wine. Just enough to keep him from waking.

Despite his annoyance, he laughed, and as I felt his lips press a kiss to the back of my head, my eyes fell shut. He was making this so difficult.

After a moment, his voice turned somber. Soft, but insistent. Hurt. It cut me like a knife.

"Why are you running from me, Freya?"

I swallowed, keeping my eyes shut.]

"It's not you I am running from."

["Your aunt?" He growled, but I sensed his anger was not directed at me this time. "I told you I would protect you. The whole pack will. You're safe with us."

I had told him about Dahlia, of her abuse and reluctance to let me go, but I hadn't let him in so deep he knew everything. I'd kept the gory details to myself, unwilling – no, unable – to share so much of myself even with someone I cared for deeply. And so obviously he believed his promise. Believed he and his pack would prevail over this lone witch who threatened the woman he wanted. Because he didn't know any better.

I squirmed in his arms again, needing to put distance between us.]

"Let go."

[He tightened his hold on me, snarling. "No."]

"Let me go," [I repeated, my own voice a growl now panic welled within me.] "I don't want this. I don't want you!"

[A blatant lie, but if it would ensure he left, it was worth it.

Marcus' hold on me shifted, but he didn't let go. One hand collared my throat while the other reached down to bunch in my skirts, raising the hem of my dress to gain access to my sex. He cupped me possessively, his middle finger dipping between my folds to tease the sensitive flesh there and came away wet, my arousal coating him.

I groaned, barely containing the urge to whine in protest as his hand slipped from between my thighs to travel to his mouth. I tried to follow his actions with my gaze, but the hand around my throat held me pinned against him. Still, I could hear the hum of contentment from him as he tasted me on his fingers, and soon found his lips back at my ear.

"You're a goddamned liar, Wildcat."

Yeah. I was. And apparently not a very convincing one.

Marcus put uncomfortable pressure on my throat then, not enough to keep me from breathing, but enough to keep me focused on his hold while his other hand made quick work of the intricate lacing along the back of my corset. I clutched his wrist with both hands, inwardly cursing as he undressed me until I was naked, his free hand roaming the expanse of my soft skin as he pulled me back against him. I could feel his hard length press against my ass, evidence of his own arousal which had probably plagued him ever since he caught the trail of my scent. He was rarely patient. On a normal day would have bent me over the table by now to take what he wanted.

But now he had something to prove. I could sense it from the way he clutched me to him, from the way he towered over me to intimidate and dominate. He wanted to possess and claim me, to soothe his aggravated wolf as much as the man, yes. But he also wanted to make sure I understood. That there was no escaping him, no convincing him to leave me.

His fingers dipped between my thighs again, coating themselves in my essence as he teased and rubbed, occasionally entering me in slow, agonizing strokes before pulling away. His teeth found my earlobe once more, and he growled his intentions.

"You tried to deprive me of what is mine. I can't allow that."

I hissed in a sharp breath as his palm came down hard on my butt cheek, making me buck in his grasp. His words and punishing actions ignited my defiance and I snarled my displeasure, digging my fingernails into his wrist as I once again began to fight his hold, writhing and thrashing.]

"Not yours. Not anyone's."

[I fought hard and wild, so much so Marcus struggled to keep me pinned. Forced to shift his hold on me, one arm snaked around my waist to anchor me to his body, his hand leaving my throat to tangle in my hair. Catching a handful, he tugged my head back sharply and I soon felt teeth clamp down on the back of my neck. It wasn't hard enough to break the skin, but my body stilled, recognizing the warning he and his inner beast was giving me. I remained tense for another few seconds, then slowly, relaxed back against him, acting purely on an primal instinct.

I was rewarded with a kiss where his teeth had once threatened to pierce my flesh, and a shiver of delight rippled down my spine.

"That's my good girl," he whispered adoringly, and though I knew it had not been meant as patronizing, I still bristled.

With a slight nudge of magic, my fingernails turned to claws and reached behind me to slash at his skin, punishing him. He growled in pain and...approval?

"That's right, Wildcat. Mark me."

Fucking wolves.

Giving him what he wanted, though probably more than what he could handle, I dug my claws into the sides of his legs, cutting deep enough for true pain to blast him and force him to relinquish his hold on me. Once he did, I didn't waste any time. I dove for the iron poker on the floor, but missed it by inches as a hard, naked body tackled me to the ground.

Marcus was on me again, and we fought. Well, I fought. Marcus tried to pin me down while avoiding my razor sharp claws. Minutes passed, and in the end, Marcus came out on top. In every sense of the word.

Panting, having close to exhausted myself by struggling with this mountain of a man, my muscles burned and ached as I slumped beneath him, claws retracting. He didn't gloat, but I could sense his satisfaction roll off him in smug waves. To his credit he didn't voice it.

While my breathing calmed, he blanketed me with his body, kissing along the column of my throat and sucking gently at my pulse-point. Soon, he sat up and pulled me with him, making me straddle his lap before he claimed my mouth, feasting hungrily and greedily, giving an admonishing squeeze to my ass every time I tried to take control of the kiss. He was in charge, and apparently I needed to accept that. I did. The fight had gone out of me for the time being, and that coaxing voice in the back of my mind told me to just enjoy him.

One last time.

When our kiss broke, he teased my entrance with his fingers again, murmuring huskily against my lips.

"This is mine."

His fingers moved, slipping between my asscheeks and teasing there as well.

"This is mine."

His free hand cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his hungry gaze.

"You are mine. And I'm going to fuck you, take you, wherever and whenever I want. And you're going to let me. Aren't you, Wildcat?"

My swollen lips parted for his thumb as he grazed its pad over my mouth, tenderly sucking on his finger as I nodded, eyes hazy with lust.

He smiled.]

When morning came, we lay in bed, my back tucked against Marcus' chest as he dozed. He had fought the lull of sleep so hard, was terrified if he succumbed, I would vanish. But eventually, he'd given in.

I hadn't.

Couldn't even if I had wanted to.

My heart hurt, my insides squirming with agony and guilt over what I was going to do.

Last night had changed nothing.

Though as we'd curled up together, sated and sleepy, and Marcus had held me, whispered words of love and adoration against my hair, promising me a life of companionship, that I would never be alone again...I had wanted to badly to just give in. To risk it all. To hell with Dahlia.

But that was a selfish thought. A selfish fantasy. And I would never forgive myself if Marcus and his lovely family got hurt because of me.

So, as much as it hurt, as much as it broke my heart, I slipped from his arms. It wasn't easy. His hold on me was still so tight I suspected I might be bruised. But in his sleep, while his mind was occupied and elsewhere, his body eventually gave in to my gentle nudging, allowing me to rise and get dressed.

Just as I finished, I felt him stirring. His eyes shot open when his hands couldn't find me and when his gaze landed on me by the door, the confused look turned to one of hurt and betrayal. Despite this, I sensed him readying himself for another attack, to force me to stay. Before he could get up, I moved towards him and sat down beside him. This seemed to placate him and his wolf enough to keep from making a possessive grab for me. I leaned in to kiss him, cupping his face in my hands as I tried to memorize the taste of him on my tongue, breathing in his scent while I still could.

"You're not leaving," he said once our lips parted, foreheads resting against one another.

I closed my eyes and gave him another kiss, though forced myself to break away quicker this time. I met his gaze, trying to convey a million conflicting feelings at once, but knew he would never understand.]

"I'm sorry," [I whispered, placing my palm on his forehead and doing what I had swore never to do to my handsome wolf. To directly use my magic against him.] "Sleep."

[His eyes fell shut before he could react any further and his head thumped back against the pillows. I stood, pulling the blankets back over his naked body and stooped to give him one last kiss, fighting in vain to stop the tears that stubbornly ran down my cheeks.]


End file.
